Santa Won't Find Me Here
by Soncnica
Summary: It's not the first Christmas Dean's spent in the hospital.


**I wrote this for: a Winter/Holiday themed Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme on hoodie_time on LJ for a prompt saying: **

**""****_It's not the first Christmas Dean's spent in the hospital._""**

**I own nothing. And thank you to my awesome beta marlowe78.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>He was two years old when he first spent Christmas in a hospital. But he doesn't remember much about it, because hello, he was two.<p>

The next time he spent Christmas in a hospital he was eight, and he sure does remember that, because he really, really wanted to spend Christmas with his brother... he even got Sammy a gift, wrapped it up and all... but no, he was lying in bed, with a broken arm and a headache. Sammy said _bye,__Dean_ and waved his chubby little hand to him when John led him out of the room to their motel room, where Dean knew John would do everything possible not to pass out from too much Whiskey.  
>"Hey, Sam?" he yelled after his brother, and saw his father tug on Sam's hand, bringing him back to the room and lifting him up to sit on Dean's bed.<br>"Here, I have somethin' for ya... Santa left it here for you, guess he couldn't find you under all that hair."  
>"Whassit? Gimme."<br>He smiled and flinched when movement pulled on his mending bones, hissing when Sam shifted on the bed, but the pain was worth it to see that smile on his little brother's face.

The next time he was in a hospital on Christmas day, he was thirteen and he was floating on a super, doooper, awesome, beautifulish, spectacularish, gahgahgahawesome cloud of pain medication. It was awesome and he could've sworn that he could hear the bells on the reindeers when they flew past his window, tugging the sleigh behind them. Or maybe it was just the heart monitor... it was going pretty fast.

When he was fifteen, Christmas day was hell; all he remembers of it is that he was thrashing on a hard bed, with lights in his eyes, bright, so bright burning him, and faces of doctors all around him, hands touching in places no hands were allowed to touch (yet) and he couldn't breathe. There was pain everywhere there could possibly be pain and when he finally passed out, his only thought was: Santa won't find me here.  
>Looking back at it now, it's crazy what the brain holds on to when it's going under heavy medication.<p>

When Sam was sixteen, he was finally old enough to get the 'funny' of Dean always being in the hospital on Christmas day. It had happened so many times, that they even started to joke that Santa doesn't even know to find Dean anywhere else but in a hospital.  
>"Man, Dean, Santa'll surely find you this year."<br>Dean grinned, showing his bloody teeth to his brother, clutching Sam's forearm like his life depended on it; on the strength he felt there.  
>"There's no Santa, Sam. No - fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, aaaaaaaarhgggh - Santa..."<br>Sam just smirked down at him and wiped away the blood that was running into his brother's eyes along with his sweat.  
>"We'll see about that, man. Now just hold on, alright? We're almost there."<br>He passed out before they made it to the hospital, before he was examined, operated and brought to his room.  
>But when he woke up, hours later in the dead of night there was pudding waiting for him on the table. He couldn't eat it of course, but it was there. And that's all that mattered.<p>

He was twenty-four, and Christmas was a lonely thing for a while now, so it didn't really matter that he was spending this years Christmas in a hospital bed again, with fuckin' needles that pinched whenever he moved, with tubes and wires on him and shoved in him. It sucked, but... at least he had a nurse to keep him company. She was sixty or so years old, but... it was kinda great to chat with her. He smiled at her stories of kids growing up, of grandkids jumping her on Christmas demanding presents... he smiled at that, because memories of Sam jumping their dad or even him, made him... long for his brother. He didn't know what hurt more; his body or his mind, because loneliness was a hard bitch pressing on his chest.

Christmas of 2007 was... not spend in a hospital, but only barely. There was still pain and a cut on his forearm and still a bandage over it, but it was nothing like being in a hospital... it was... a game and too spiced up eggnog and his brother. And snow. It made all the previous Christmases disappear from his mind.

-:-

"How're you?"  
>He jumped a little, startled by his brother's voice, and pulled on the stupid itchy IV in his arm, rolling his eyes at the pinch.<br>"Fine."  
>It sounded grumpy, even for him.<br>"Okay, grumpy."  
>He sighed. Nothing was fine, he was in a freakin' hospital again, on Christmas for God's sake, he'd think that whoever was on duty up there now, would at least give him a break. But no... Christmas and hospital, awesome.<br>"Brought you a mag, no not a skin mag, don't want you to scare the nurses, just some car mag."  
>"Put it on the table."<br>"Okay."

Then there was silence and snow falling gently outside. And Sam's feet on the edge of his bed.

"Dean?"  
>"Mhm?"<br>"Merry Christmas."  
>He looked towards his brother, holding two cups of pudding, one arm extended towards him.<br>He took the cup and looked at it, before nudging it with Sam's.

It was a good pudding. It was a good Christmas. It was... peace and maybe love that wrapped all around him, easing the hurt in his chest, while watching his brother be clumsy with his pudding. It was just like Sam was three again…  
>"Dude, the pudding goes in your mouth, not on your shirt."<br>"Arrhh, shut up."  
>He laughed at the way his little brother was wiping the pudding off his shirt. He laughed because he had his brother. He laughed because it was a Christmas spent together. He grimaced when something in his chest pulled wrong and his ribs screamed at him to stop laughing or they'd punish him in the worst way imaginary. But he still laughed even when his head started to hurt.<br>"What's so funny?"  
>"Nothin' man, just have an idiot for a brother."<br>"'m not an idiot, idiot."  
>It was a good Christmas.<p>

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><p><strong>The<strong>**End.**


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